


Just One Taste

by smalld1171



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Vampirish Dean, missing scenes 6x05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalld1171/pseuds/smalld1171
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just an added scene or two to go along with 6X05... Because I loved Vampire Dean! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He is starving. He is so thirsty. Please. He wants just one taste. Just one.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He says the words but knows they are false. He wishes they would just hurry the hell up and give him the cure. Or kill him. Either one will do. His body is on fire. The thirst, it courses through him. So damn strong.

He senses them as they approach, their heartbeats play a deafening tune. He licks his lips, dying to take just one little nip from them. No, he can't give in, not now, he has almost made it. He has resisted this long, he just needs to focus. He closes his eyes to try and block out the increasing craving he feels grow within him.

They must be closer now. It, they, the beats, the blood travelling through their veins, it pounds in his ears. And he can't deny it any longer, it sounds so damn good. He wonders what the taste would be like. He feels his mouth water at the simple thought of it. Blood. Oozing from their bodies into his. Running down his throat, soothing his want. His need. His hunger. He smiles at the vision in his mind. Blood. The taste. Just one taste.

They stare at him as he sits there, eyes closed and blade in hand. They see him moisten his lips and watch his mouth curl up into a disturbing smile. They are wary of the darkness, the blood lust that must be consuming him.

"Dean?" Sam sees his head tilt but his eyes remain closed. He gently lifts the knife from his brother's grasp.

He opens his eyes and keeps his focus to the ground, careful to keep his gaze away from his brother. "Gotta hurry Sam. I'm losing. I want... I want... the urge, it is so strong. Don't know how much longer I can control it."

"Let's get outta here, we can still fix this Dean."

His breath is ragged and comes out short and fast. He sees Sam reach an arm out to him. "Best if you keep your distance...don't touch me. Your blood...I can hear it...running through you. Your heart...so strong. The sound...it's...it's...beautiful. God, the taste...I'm sure it would be...wonderful."

Dean rises to his feet and stares into Sam's eyes. Sam takes a step back. The eyes. So dark. Animalistic. He sees want and need in them. He sees instinct and loss of control. His body shudders involuntarily. Dean is right. He is losing. Fast.

His eyes fall onto the neck. He stares at it. Mesmerized by it. He can't focus on anything else, nothing else exists to him at this moment. Just the neck. The pulse. The blood. It's right there. It taunts him. It dares him. To take some. Just one taste.

They watch him. They wonder if he even realizes that he is staring, and drooling, at Sam's neck. His eyes are transfixed at the pulse point. And he just licked his lips. Again. And they know that this, this situation is not good. At all.


	2. Chapter 2

Samuel is thankful that they came prepared. Blades. Guns. And, the only thing likely to work in this particular situation, Dead Man's blood. He watches his grandson. Closely. He can see that Dean's gaze is unflinching. Unwavering. Deliberate and focused. On Sam. On his neck. On his blood. His stare is so intent on Sam that he thinks there is a chance that he will be able to maneuver behind him. He snakes his hand into his pocket and finds the needle. He hoped that it would not be needed but the look in Dean's eyes tells him different. He no longer feels he can be reasoned with. Feels that he can no longer be reached. His thirst, his hunger is the only thing that drives him now.

Sam freezes before the stare of the cold hard eyes ahead of him. He does not move, not one inch. He bides his time. He does not want to provoke the monster, the one that wears Dean's face, into an attack. He sees Samuel from the corner of his eye. Sees the needle he grips tight in his hand. Sees him move, slowly, delicately, towards Dean. Sam needs to do what he can to keep his brother's face directed at him. It shouldn't be difficult, he knows he is looking to Dean like the proverbial pork chop to the hungry dog in an old Looney Tunes cartoon. Sam swallows, and swallows again. He notices his action has brought an eerie smile to his brother's lips. God, Dean is actually salivating at the sight. Sam knows it will only be a matter of time, and not much, before Dean makes his move. Until he completely succumbs to the hunger within.

He can't tear his eyes away. The movement of the neck. The throbbing pulse. It is drawing him closer to the edge, he wants to give in to the temptation. He doesn't care that it is Sam. His brother is not the same one he fought heaven and hell with. He is changed, altered, and Dean figures if he can change into someone completely different then maybe it's time for him to do the same. He hesitates when he hears a voice in his head. His voice. It tells him to stop. Tells him not to give in. Tells him he is not a monster. Tells him not to turn into one of the creatures he has hunted his entire life. He smirks at that. He is a monster, always has been. In life, in hell, and now. He shakes his head, he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't care about anything else right now. He knows what he wants. Sam. Or rather, Sam's blood. To tame the wild thirst that wells inside him.

"Sammy, you gotta help me. Please. I won't hurt you. You know I would never hurt you Sam."

Dean takes a step towards him and Sam counters with a backwards step of his own. "Sorry Dean but I don't think I believe you right now. I think you need to come with us and we can get the cure into you. You are definitely not good right now. Just... Just come with us and we can help you."

He almost forgot. We. Sam and Samuel. He looks to the right, to the last place he saw the old guy and sees that he is no longer there. Huh, they are tricky bastards. He stops and listens. And hears the footsteps behind him. He smiles and turns at lightning fast speed, grabbing the arm that holds the needle. That holds the Dead Man's blood. "Hey Gramps, what gives? You know it's not polite to sneak up on your own grandson like that. We're family aren't we?" He squeezes hard on the wrist and smiles when Samuel lets out a groan and drops the needle to the floor. He kicks the syringe out of reach and stares into the other man's eyes. "There, that's a good boy. If I didn't no better I would say you were gonna jab me in the back with that. And, the more I think about it the more unsure I am about whether I want to be saved. Maybe this whole thing isn't as bad as we made it out to be after all. Maybe this is what I am meant to be."

Dean slams Samuel harshly up against the wall. He loves the way the fear dances across his face as his teeth descend and as his mouth hovers above his neck. He hears his heartbeat, that moments ago thumped at a steady rhythm, begin a fluctuating climb. Faster and faster it goes. Blood pumping and pumping through his veins. Dean grins wildly and bathes in the power he has over this man. He feels euphoric at the rush that fills his entire body. Dean reasons that this kind of feeling just can't be bad.

Sam watches the scene unfold and needs to do something, and quick, to divert Dean's attention away. He takes in a deep breath and bellows towards the pair of men. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size? Or, cuz that might be difficult for someone of your stature, why not pick on someone your own age at least? Or do you get your kicks from beating up an old man whose reflexes are slow and unsteady?"

Dean doesn't speak but Sam can see his posture change. His shoulders hunch and his head tilts to one side, like he is waiting for more. Sam sees his grandfather and can see the wave of relief that washes over him as he hears the distinctive sound of Dean's new set of chompers retract. Sam knows he has his attention and that he just needs to up the ante a bit more to get Samuel out of harms way. Sam walks up behind Dean and can see he still has Samuel in a vice grip, preventing him from just attacking him from behind. Sam decides to keep going, he needs to break his focus off of their grandfather and onto him. He is just inches away from Dean's back. He leans in and his voice turns into a whisper in his brother's ear.

"You know it is my blood you want Dean. Young. Strong. Vital. So I dare you. Come and take it. Show me how tough you are."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam backs up and waits. Waits to see if Dean takes the bait. And the bait is him. Sam doesn't feel scared, there is no fear. He rationalizes this whole scene, he tells himself that he can not allow Samuel to die. Not because he is his grandfather, not because he is blood. Those aren't the reasons. He can not allow him to die because he knows so much. About hunting. About the alphas. And Sam needs him around to hunt the alphas down. Samuel is an important piece in the puzzle. At least for now. And Dean? Well, he has his own part to play. He has seen the vampire world from the inside and Sam is itching to find out what it is he saw. What he sees. He needs to know. So, it won't do him any good for either Samuel or Dean to die tonight.

So he waits. Waits for the reaction to work its way through his brother's fevered mind. Sam knows him. Knows he won't be able to resist. Even if his mind is wavering from the Dean of the previous day, Sam still knows he won't be able to resist the carrot he just dangled in front of him. The challenge. Dean won't. He can't say no to a challenge. Especially when it comes from Sam.

Dean feels the hairs stand up on his neck. He sniffs the air. He can smell him. Sam. He can hear him. His heart. His blood. And Sam just taunted him. Challenged him. He closes his eyes for a brief moment. He knows his brother is right. It is him he wants. His blood. His strength. His vitality. His mouth turns into a feral grin and his hunger goes into overdrive. The scales have just been tipped. He no longer hears anything from that irritating, nagging voice inside him. It's gone. That Dean. The weak, emotionally scarred loser Dean. Gone. Good riddance. Only the new, improved vampire Dean inhabits his body and mind now. He loves each and every single sensation that flows, that courses through his body. He chuckles as he compares himself to Steve Austin. Better than he was before. Better. Stronger. Faster. He looks to gramps again. He decides that he just isn't worth the effort. At least not right now. Why nibble on the old, withered appetizer when the young and fresh main course has just opened up an invitation to be snacked on first?

Sam thinks he can hear it. Thinks he can see it. The actual moment when the light that has defined his brother is extinguished. When that Dean ceases to exist and another version emerges from the smoldering ashes. But Sam isn't scared, there is no fear. He looks to his grandfather and wills him to look over at him. He just needs a diversion.

Samuel sees nothing but darkness and blood lust in Dean's once vibrant and alive eyes. They have lost their sparkle, their humanity. He looks over to where Sam is and sees him nod to where the syringe still lays on the floor. Samuel needs to try and get Dean's attention. Because as strong as Sam is, he knows he will be no match for a vampire. For Dean. Without the dead man's blood they won't make it out of here alive. "Dean, you do not want to do this son. Please stop. Think about what you are doing. You killed this whole damn nest to get to the cure. You are so close. Don't let the hunger win." He thinks he sees a glimmer of his grandson displayed on his features for a split second but then it is gone. "You are infected. Sam and me? We can fix you. Please son, let us help you."

Sam hears Samuel's voice and slowly inches his way to where the needle lays on the floor. He keeps one eye on the prize, the other on the two men. He just needs a couple more seconds to get it, to strike at Dean and get this mess over with. He gets closer and closer but as he hears Dean speak he knows he has run out of time.

Dean snarls at Samuel, his voice comes out low and husky. "You talk to much. Why don't you sit this one out old man. Let the youngins have some fun and play." He strikes his grandfather across the face and watches him fall in a heap. "That's right, you just relax. I'll come back and see you later."

Sam freezes as Dean turns to face him. He is startled at the speed in which Dean suddenly stands right in front of him. "Where you going bro? Trying to run away? I thought you wanted a piece of me? Right Sammy?" Pause "Isn't that a coincidence, cuz I know that I definitely want a piece of you. Just one Sam. All I need. All I want. Just one taste."


	4. Chapter 4

It is now his turn as he is viciously slammed up against the wall. His ears and head ring from the impact as the wind is knocked out of him. He admits to himself that perhaps he was a bit premature in his thoughts that he could take control of this situation. Even though his strength is ten fold what it was before his trip down under, the iron grip that now holds him up against the wall makes it feel like he has no strength at all. As he sees and hears the jagged teeth come into view, as they escape the confines of his brother's mouth, he knows he needs to break through in some way to him. And fast.

"If you do this Dean there is no going back. You will become what you hate. What you have hunted your whole life. You will turn from hunter to hunted. You will be chased. You will be found. You will be killed. If not by me, by the hand of someone else." Sam sees a moment of hesitation within Dean. He decides to use it. It's time to strike into the very heart of him. Of what his entire life has been, has meant. Him. Sam.

"After all that we have been through, all the sacrifices we have made for each other, for the world, don't let it end like this. Not like this. You are stronger than this, the strongest person I know. You need to fight it. You can win." It's almost too easy. To play on his weakness. Dean, he just has so many to choose from. It's pathetic. But, Sam is in self-preservation mode so the lies continue to roll off his tongue, being the brother Dean needs him to be. The one he longs for him to be. "Come back to me bro. Don't let this be our last moment together. We just found each other again, we need the chance to be brothers again." Sam hopes his lies are getting through. He hopes Dean can't see right through them, that he can't tell that he really doesn't care about him. At all.

His head pounds. His eyes water and he feels the coldness of the floor seep into him. He blinks to clear out the fog and takes a moment to figure out just what the hell has happened. The light bulb. It goes on in an instant and Samuel's eyes quickly scan the room. He finds Sam and sees he is now in a similar position to what the older man had been in just minutes ago. He hears Sam speak to Dean and takes the chance to work on a plan. His eyes drift to the floor, to the syringe, to their only chance. He moves, almost slithers across the floor to get to it.

Dean smiles at his brother. He can't believe how stupid Sam thinks he is. He thinks he can start with the sappy brother routine? Now? He has been different since he got back. Sam obviously doesn't want to be a part of Dean's life. Hell, he left him suffer alone, in despair, for an entire year. He is just trying to save his own skin. Dean can't resist it. Sure, he'll play along, it'll be fun.

He looks into his brother's eyes and puts his acting skills to the test. He loosens his grip just a fraction and allows his teeth to retract. He pours it on, complete with the puppy dog eyes that he learned watching the master, the man before him. "Sammy? Oh God Sammy. What? I... What's going on? Are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I? I'm... I think I'm going crazy. I'm just so lost. Please Sammy. Help me... help me."

"You're okay Dean, and so am I. We will fix this together. Let's just get out of here, get you the cure and get us back to normal." Sam feels pleased with himself. He knows Dean so well, knows what he fears, what he loves. It's just so damn easy to get him to fold. He notices Samuel approach, needle in hand. He needs to keep his brother talking, keep his thoughts on him. But he finds he doesn't have to. It is Dean who speaks next.

"Yeah.. I want us to be close again Sammy. Closer than ever. I want us to be able to share things again. Our lives. Even more than before." He can't wait any longer. He can't play the game. He knows what he wants and it is right there in front of him. His grip tightens and he careens Sam into the wall again, and grins fiercely at him as he tries to catch his breath. He hears the darkness in his voice, the hate, the want and the need. And it just drives him further into madness. He leans in close to his brother, taking his chance to be the one to whisper. "Aw, what's a matter Sam? Did I catch you by surprise? Did you think I didn't know what you were doing? Did you expect me to believe that you give one shit about me? I can see right through you dude, and I don't need anything from you. Well. Huh." He bears his teeth once more and hisses into his brother's ear. "Well, maybe just a few drops of your blood. That's the one thing I need from you. And I am going to take it. And there is not one thing you can do about it... baby brother." He looks into Sam's eyes and sees them widen. "Any last words Sammy? Or, wait, I know. Maybe I won't kill ya. Maybe you and I can be a team again. Maybe I'll just turn you instead. You will love it. The feel of it. The sense of power, the high."

Samuel is right there, just a few strides behind his grandson. He really thought Sam had gotten through to his brother. Had reasoned him out of his fury. But all bets are now off. Dean is intent on feeding. And not just on a stranger. No. On his own blood. On Sam.

Dean turns Sam's head forcefully to the side, the smell, the pumping of the blood driving him closer to the edge. He can't concentrate on anything else. Just the blood. The taste. Finally, he is going to quench his thirst. And it'll be an added bonus when he shuts his stupid brother up.

Samuel sees Dean lean in, mouth wide, teeth ready. Time is up. He lunges, syringe in hand, just as Dean's mouth descends towards Sam's very exposed and pulsing carotid artery.


	5. Chapter 5

"Dean. Please. Stop. You don't want to do this." Sam struggles to get free but he can't move. His brother has him immobilized against the wall. The more he squirms the tighter Dean's hold becomes. He can not do anything. He can not move his head. He can not get his neck out of Dean's reach. His brother has complete control of the situation. And Sam? He has no control at all.

Dean loves the desperation in Sam's voice. "Beeeep.. Sorry Sammy. Thanks for playing but you are wrong. This? This is the only thing that I am sure of. I do want this. More than you know. So, no more talking. No more stalling. It's time to bond. It's time to share. And best of all, it is time to taste." His eyes narrow in on the prize, the pumping of the blood echoes in his ears, in his mind, in his entire body. He is numb to anything else. He thinks maybe Sam is still talking but he can't hear the words. And he doesn't want to. He just wants his blood. It's like he is high, floating above, encased in a world of ecstasy, of raw, unflinching desire. For just one thing. He smiles, slides his tongue along the rim of his new and pretty fantastically awesome set of teeth, and lowers his head ever closer to Sam's neck. His voice is husky and full of want. "Relax. I just want one little itsy bitsy taste Sam."

Sam knows now there is no reaching him. No convincing him to stop. No way to stop what is about to happen. He can't believe it has come to this. To this moment. And he can't believe that all the events unfolding right now were caused by his own lack of action in that back alley. He made this into the situation it is. He is responsible for Dean. For turning him into a monster. Sam closes his eyes and tries to ready himself for the pain he knows is just seconds away.

Samuel lunges and stabs his grandson in the leg. As his thumb begins to press down on the plunger he hears a low growl followed by a backhand of such force and raw power that he feels himself actually leave the ground and end up far from where he started. He swallows hard and hopes that the blood has found its mark. That he managed to get enough of the poison into his grandson, that there is enough flowing through Dean's veins to stop him. To give Samuel and Sam a chance to save him. And he hopes there is enough time for the dead man's blood to work, before he is face to face with a very pissed off version of Dean. Until he is face to face with the vampire within, the vampire that Dean has now surrendered himself to.

Sam hears a hiss, and then a growl, and finds himself instantly freed of his brother's steel grip. The pressure that held him in place is gone. The feel of Dean's breath on his neck. Gone. When he looks up to see the reason for this sudden stroke of luck he can tell by his body language and posture that Dean is mighty pissed off. His strides are forceful and deliberate. Sam can almost feel the hatred radiate from his brother's back. And that hatred is directed entirely at their grandfather.

His hopes fade in an instant as he stares in horror at Dean. He can hardly recognize him. His eyes. His teeth. Samuel shudders when he sees them. They are no longer human. And now Dean looks to be on a mission. The look he sees tells Samuel that he is now the subject of Dean's intense and utter rage. Samuel is lost. He has nothing left to fight with, no words left to say. He is going to die. His own grandson is going to kill him. And then it will be done. There will be no going back. No undoing the damage. Because once Dean has done the deed, his transformation will be complete.


	6. Chapter 6

Okay Gramps, you have just stabbed me and pissed me off for the very last time. No more second chances dude, you are so gonna die. The words bounce around in Dean's brain and he actually feels pretty excited at the thought of ending his grandfather's life. He shouldn't be around anyways, he died years ago, he saw him die. He was brought back for something but it is just not right that he is back among the living. And, now that he thinks about it, Sam shouldn't be walking around either. Really, how DOES one escape the cage? It isn't right. It isn't normal. It should not of happened and now Dean has the chance to put the two wrongs that occupy the room with him back into the right.

He moves towards Samuel, only the thought of his death on his mind, when he is stopped suddenly by some kind of cramp in his leg. The leg that his stupid grandpa decided to use as a pin cushion. Shit. No. Dean will not let it happen. He is so damn close to the satisfaction that only blood will provide. He wills his body to move, continues to close in on his target, and feels only slightly hindered by the discomfort emanating from his appendage. But damn it. Now his stupid leg decides to give out and it forces Dean to his knees. But he doesn't stop. He may be slowed down but he can still move, it is not beneath him to start to crawl along the floor. He needs blood and a little boo-boo in his leg isn't going to make him halt. His movements become slower and slower but it is the pure determination within him, his need to get to the blood supply, that shields him somewhat from the pain that starts to flow. He can deal with it, it isn't too bad, he has survived far worse that than this little inconvenience in his lifetime. If he can just get to the blood he will be rejuvenated, renewed and ready for action.

Dean stops for a moment and shuts his eyes. He knows that Samuel didn't get much of the blood into him so he just needs to ride it out. He will be fine. Dean Winchester is always fine. He repeats a steady mantra inside his head. Just keep going. Get to the blood. Don't stop now. Just keep going. Get to the blood. He is so close, he just needs to get to the old man. He opens his eyes and looks to Samuel, who seems to be frozen to the spot. Gramps has not moved one inch and Dean finds that very, very odd. But, he doesn't dwell on it for too long. He figures that Samuel has finally accepted the fate that awaits him and so Dean continues his crawl towards him. And then he sees it. Samuel. From his position on the floor. Samuel is smiling. And Dean knows that can absolutely not be a good thing.

Sam watches Dean's progression and knows, because he knows his brother, that his level of pain has increased. Sam knows now is the time to strike, while Dean is weakened. He knows he has a chance to finally stop this bizarre chain of events. While Dean remains focused on getting to their grandfather, and while he continues to deal with pockets of pain as they explode within him, Sam reaches the dead man's blood. He comes up behind his brother and quickly injects the rest of it into his shoulder as Dean moves along the floor.

Damn it Sam. I hate you. Dean stops on the spot as an intense wave of pain courses through his entire body. He tries to breathe through the ever increasing pulse of agony that threatens to overtake him and then he sees it. Samuel. The old bastard slowly rises from the floor and stands right in front of him. The motivation that Dean had just moments ago to continue his assault on his grandfather has now taken a back set to the constant flux of pain that radiates through him. He stays on all fours. He can't move. He can't focus. He can't function. He feels desperation enter and he knows the poison is wreaking havoc on his body. Shit.

"Okay Dean. Just take it easy. The pain will ease in a little while. You will feel better very soon." Pause "Sam, let's get him out of here quick, we don't know how long we have until the poison runs it's course."

And with that Dean feels himself being hoisted up by two sets of arms and he curses both of the men. He wants to fight. He wants to lash out, break some bones, bite some skin, but his movements come out sluggish and pathetically weak. C'mon body, hurry up. Fight this.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam and Samuel don't speak but they don't have to. They seems to be able to communicate through looks alone. Sam glances at his grandfather and sees him motion to the decapitated body that litters the floor. Sam takes the hint, leaves Samuel to manage his brother, and goes off to collect the blood. Blood from the vamp that turned Dean. From the vamp that Sam let turn Dean. He shivers slightly as he works to gather the fluid. He quickly shakes off the coldness he suddenly feels and joins up with his grandfather once again.

Fight it Dean. Don't lose control. Don't give in. Fight it. The words echo through Dean's mind as he steels himself against the onslaught. Against the steady throb of pain, the constant drum of it that the damn poison has released within him. In his weakened state Dean can not do one thing to prevent his so called family from manhandling him. From carting him, leading him out of the building, away from the nest. He hates them. With his entire being. His vision begins to fade in and out and his skin crawls. He despises the feel of it. Of the sensation. Of their hands on him. The bastards lead him around like some kind of filthy, mangy mutt. His insides seethe with rage. He screams inside for them to let him go. To leave him alone. To stop touching him. He has another thought. Death. He wants them to die. The sooner the better. Although his body has chosen to betray him, his mind is in overdrive. He can. He must. He will get out of this. He feels his strength start to wane and it really pisses him off.

The pair can feel the change in Dean's body control immediately when his body finally gives out. They feel his legs buckle and the crush of his weight as it descends upon them. They know the exact moment when he loses the fight and succumbs to the pull of darkness, when he passes out cold. They look to one another again and share a silent sense of relief. They load Dean's limp frame into the van and wordlessly bind his arms and legs with rope. They both know the bonds would never hold him if it wasn't for the poison pumping through his veins, but right now they hope it will hold. That it will be enough for the ride back to the room. They just need to make it back. To their supplies. To another vial of dead man's blood. There if they need it. Everything is back there, back at the room. They just need to make it there in one piece.

"I'll drive Sam, you keep an eye on your brother. We have no idea how long we have." Sam and his grandfather share just one more glance before they take their respective positions in the vehicle and begin the journey back to the motel. Back to a cure for Dean.

He figures he must have blacked out for a time as he opens his eyes but does not remember letting them close. He tries to focus through the blur that coats them. He takes a moment to get his bearings and finds himself laying on the floor of the van. He sees Gramps at the wheel and Sam, who is seated across from him, wearing a very somber looking mask. Dean tries to rise but can't because it becomes apparent that his hands and feet are tied. He thinks his relatives are sneaky little cowards, too afraid to try and contain him while he is awake. He lets out a sigh of frustration and struggles against his bonds until his strength fades and he is forced to stop his attempts. His eyes catch onto and hold the gaze of the man who shares the back of the van with him. Dean does his best. He delivers the best, most intimidating, hateful, dagger throwing death glare he possibly can. He aims it squarely onto his brother. "You've..." He curses to himself, feels the pain well up inside and takes a shaky breath. "You've only delayed the inevitable S'm...I've... I've decided..." Dean takes a ragged breath. "No more Mr. Nice Guy... I am done. No more. It's time... to let the real me... shine through." Pause. Another shaky breath echoes through the van. "Death, Sam." Pause. "Death is what awaits you... my brother." Dean smiles and his eyes drift closed. He just needs to rest for a minute or two. Gather some strength. The game is not over yet. Not by a long shot.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean doesn't feel right. Something is off. The thoughts that float around in his head make him cringe. Blood? Death? He can't seem to stop the loop that continuously plays within him. His thoughts. They always lead back to blood. He pictures himself. Drinking. Blood. He pictures himself. Killing. To get to the blood. To get to the liquid that will quench his hunger. His thirst. But he knows that it can't be right. He doesn't want that. He feels confused and unsure as to what it means. He can't find any reason as to why his brain would conjure up images of that. There is only one creature that needs, that wants the taste of blood. Only vampires want that.

Vampires. Shit. The circumstances that led him here flood him and he suddenly can't breathe. No. A war rages inside. Inside Dean's mind. The poison, it seems to have an unexpected effect. Maybe it is because Dean has not yet taken the final step towards complete transformation. Maybe it is because deep inside, somewhere, he knows this is not what he really wants. Whatever the reason, it seems as though, as his body continues to fight against the affects of the dead man's blood, his mind sharpens and tries to morph back into its true self. To the real Dean. Brother, grandson, hunter.

He can feel the conflict of emotions that are muddled inside his head. They bubble up to the surface and the pull, the grip of the vampire seems to ebb away for the briefest of moments. And in that moment there is clarity. He wants the cure. He wants to be saved. He doesn't want this. Not this. Dean opens his eyes as far as they will allow. His gaze moves to look at his brother. Sam. Sammy. He has to protect Sammy. From him.

Sam sees Dean look at him. The darkness once evident in his green eyes has faded. The teeth, the eerie grin. All gone. His brother has come back and Sam can see so many emotions dance across Dean's face. Fear. Guilt. Worry. Pain. Sam can no longer relate to any of those. He can tell his brother is looking to him for support, for some kind of comfort in this incredibly strange situation but finds the words no longer come easy to him. He manages a small smile towards the man tied up and laying on the floor. "It's okay Dean. It won't be long now."

"SAM! Please! You gotta fix this! I don't want to turn. Don't let me drink. I..." Dean wants to talk, wants to ask his brother if he is okay, if he hurt him, but finds he can't. Because, as quickly as it left, Dean can once again feel the darkness infiltrate his senses. He is weak and hungry and tired and even though he tries to function with his rational being, he can feel the ever increasing pull of the vampire. He feels the walls begin to close, his true self start to suffocate. His fragile hold begins to fail, the heavy veil of darkness, of madness, starts to cloud over him, reaching out to reclaim his body and mind. His control falters. His thoughts start to scatter, his desire to keep Sam safe, to protect his baby brother are slowly being overrun. "NO! I AM NOT A MONSTER! I AM NOT A MONSTER! SAM! PLEASE!"

The last cling he had, that he had desperately been grasping on to to keep him sane dissipates and he again feels the urge. His fear and guilt and worry and pain are slowly being replaced by anger, hatred, loathing and hunger. It surges through him. The want. For just one taste.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam looks to the front of the van and sees his grandfather's concerned gaze meet his through the rear view mirror. They are running out of time. The venom, the poison is fading, the weakness that held Dean contained now threatens to come undone. "Sam! We're here! Hurry, we need to hurry!" Sam rushes into action at the stress he hears come from Samuel. He does not want to become Dean's first meal. Or his last, whichever way you want to look at it.

Samuel flies out of the van and skirts around to the back. He grabs one side of Dean while Sam grabs the other. They lead him quickly through the street, to the motel and into their room in record time. They make fast work of securing him to a chair and look to each other as Dean begins to stir. Showtime is about to begin. Samuel spots his younger grandson quickly grab a blade from their arsenal and tuck it into the waistband of his pants. The older man heads to his kit, grabs a vial and a needle and gets another dose of dead man's blood ready. He has a strong, a very strong feeling they are going to have to use it.

Dean can feel it. That the poison has been filtered through his system and he is almost back to his total strength and full vampirish potential. He can hear his former self call to him in a soft whisper but finds it is just a slight irritant, incapable of changing anything. Dean Winchester the weak, pathetic and utterly useless creature is on his way out and Dean, the strong and invincible vampire is back in control. No pain, no weakness, just strength and determination. He can hear them, scratching around the room like rats in a maze. He can hear it. The heartbeats of the two men. One is steady, the other is rapidly increasing. He knows it is the sound of Samuel's heart that beats a speedy tune. And that it is Sam's that does not. Why is that Sam? Why aren't you scared? Hmm, it is a mystery that Dean is aching to solve. It just adds fuel to the fire that burns within.

Dean keeps his eyes closed, he doesn't want to spoil the surprise that awaits his captors. He feels good. Feels in total control. He has those two right where he wants them. He moves slightly and although he can tell his arms and legs are tied he smiles to himself when he can feel the rope start to give with just one flex of his muscles. His strength is restored and breaking his binds will be as difficult for him as if he was ripping through thread. No contest. He is free and soon it will be time to make them pay. But, not yet. He just stays where he is and waits. Waits for his chance. To hurt them. To get his meal, once and for all.

Samuel walks over to Dean, flanked by Sam, and gets ready to inject his grandson yet again with the vile concoction. He can't believe that he has to do this again. He had hoped it would all be finished by now and the three men would be busy sharing a beer and having a laugh or two. Samuel awakes from his stupor when Sam places a hand on his arm. "Hurry Samuel, he is waking up." Samuel nods to his younger grandson and readies himself along Dean's elbow. As he breaks skin with the needle he looks up to Dean's face. He sees him smile. He is horrified to see it is not a smile from his grandson. No. The smile he wears is one of a vampire.

"Sorry Gramps, this game is over... you are not getting another go at me with that shit." Dean breaks his arms away from the chair and elbows Samuel across the face, satisfied with the spurt of blood that pours from his nose. The ropes around his legs fall as if they weren't even tied and Dean quickly stomps on the vial, removing all chances of getting jabbed in any area of the body with that nasty poison again. He turns and faces Sam. And smiles. He keeps an eye on his brother while he reaches down, grabs Samuel by the collar of his shirt, and drags him across the floor. He has learned that you must keep an eye on both of these bastards at all times, they like to go for the sneak attack. Not this time. He watches Sam back up slowly, he knows his brain is working overtime, trying to come up with a plan, anything to stop him. Dean lets out a maniacal sounding chuckle because he also knows his baby brother is coming up with jack squat in the miracle idea to get out of this alive column. Dean's lips form into a smile and he can tell that Sam is about to bolt for the door. Dean shakes his head, he just can not allow his thirst quenching device to get away. Huh, he chuckles at his own wit. Device. Awesome. His free arm darts out, grabs hold of Sam's throat and starts to squeeze.

Sam grabs Dean's wrist with both hands, desperate to stop the crushing power of the grip, the suffocating hold on his throat. His brother still has Samuel by the fabric of his shirt and by all accounts the oldest of the three men is out cold. That can not be good. Sam is in disbelief. Dean is actually pushing him backwards towards the wall, firm grip intact, while dragging Samuel along behind him. Unbelievable, the strength within this vampire, within Dean, is amazing. In a very bad way. Sam feels his back and head collide with the wall and finds himself staring into the face of absolute darkness again. Into the eyes of his brother. A monster.

Sam tries to think. He wants to reason with Dean but that is just a tad on the impossible side when your air supply is being cut off. His vision slowly starts to blur, he can start to see the edges fade and he knows it won't be long until this assault on his body leaves him unconscious. And then the game is over. Then he will really be up shit creek. And there is not a paddle in sight.

Dean is in complete control. He bathes in it. The power of what courses through him. Samuel is a rag doll in his hand. Sam, a man who once stood against demons and the devil himself, has been reduced to putty, to do with what he will. What a rush. Dean is distracted by a slight movement from the man on the floor. Sheesh, this old guy just doesn't know when to stop fighting. He looks down and sees Samuel start to come around. Oh no you don't old man, I am tired of dealing with you.

Sam notices movement from his grandfather and as Dean looks down to his form on the floor, Sam knows he needs to act. His eyes are fuzzy, his vision still blurred from lack of oxygen but he has to do something. Now. He allows one of his hands to fall from its position on Dean's wrist and reach around to his back. To the waistband of his jeans. To his knife. To his only chance. He grips the handle and, seeing that Dean is about ready to smack Samuel's head with a booted leg, thrusts his arm from around him and tears into Dean's flesh with the blade. He pulls the knife out as his ears are assaulted by an inhuman scream, a deafening hiss as it is let out by his now bleeding brother. Sam feels the hold on his neck release and runs to where their equipment lays. He grabs the container of dead man's blood, pours a generous amount of it onto his knife as a precaution, and approaches Dean quickly, container in hand, before he has the chance to recover from the knife wound in his side. Sam just needs to get some of this blood into the cut and Dean's circulation should take care of the rest.

Dean curses and screams and howls at the unexpected pain as it flairs through his side. He really, really needs to kill these dudes, he is beyond pissed off now. He is enraged. A stab wound won't kill him he knows but it still hurts like a son of a bitch. He has to steady himself for a moment while the pain begins to dissipate. He realizes he let Sam go when he was stabbed and silently scolds himself for being so stupid again. These stupid hunters. They are slippery assholes. Huh, hunters. My former life. Dean finds his mind starts to drift back to when he and Sam used to go on hunts together. Used to laugh. Used to have fun. Used to... shit! Dean reminds himself about how that life is gone. Forever. He needs to embrace his new role in the world. Time to get on with it already.

What is Dean doing? Sam tries to comprehend. It looks like he is just standing there. Motionless. His face displays someone deep in thought. Sam doesn't hesitate a second more. He moves with incredible speed and reaches Dean before the older Winchester even registers his arrival. By the time Dean catches on to what events are about to unfold, it is too late.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello everyone and thanks for tuning in for another chapter! I hope you will enjoy and feel free to drop me a line to let me know what you think. I'm not sure if another chapter will be out before Santa comes to town so I would like to wish you all Happy Holidays! Thanks for reading! :)

It happens in the blink of an eye yet to Dean the scene seems to play out in slow motion. He can't focus. He can't seem to make his body react. It's like he has been split into two different entities. He finds his mind is filled with memories. Of all kinds. Hunting. With Sam. Laughing. With Sam. On the open road. With Sam. He catches movement beside him and blinks to try and lift the fog, the memories that invade his mind. Sam is there, he holds a knife and a container of blood. Questions flood Dean's brain. What? Blood? Why does Sammy have blood? Dean feels his mind click back into gear. The mind of the other man who shares his body now shows itself. Right. Blood. I want blood. I need blood. And Sam is going to give it to me? He is bringing it to me? No, that's not right. Something does not fit.

Dean's heightened senses tell him in an instant. The pungent aroma that makes him gag and wrinkle his nose tells him. This blood, it is not the delicious, thirst quenching remedy that he seeks, it is bad. Poison. Tainted. Dean realizes that Sam is not holding the liquid that will help him, he grips the blood that will hurt him. But, why does Sammy want to hurt me? Why? But. Wait. Sammy? He stabbed me? But. Why? Dean thinks about it for a moment more and it becomes crystal clear. Right. Because he hates me. I am a monster.

Sam doesn't say a word while he watches the confusion and disorientation flash across Dean's face. His brother looks lost, unsure of what has happened to him and what is about to happen. Sam takes the chance to act so, while his eyes remains on Dean's face, he pours some of the contents of the container into his hand. In one quick and fluid motion, Sam lifts up the fabric of Dean's shirt and presses his bloodied palm into the other man's open wound.

Any thoughts that had tumbled inside Dean's mind cease instantly, replaced by the burn, the seething pain and heat that erupts wildly within his side. He clutches at the wound and reaches out to grab Sam for support. He watches his brother easily sidestep his attempts and he goes down in a heap of agony. Not again. That is the next thought that infiltrates Dean's confused mind. Shit. He can feel the poison seep into him, it runs through his veins and saps him of his strength and power. Shit. Stupid hunters.

Satisfied that Dean will not be able to lunge at his throat any time soon, Sam steps back and takes a moment to gather his wits. He was very close. Close to being the lowest on the food chain just a moment ago, and he sure the hell does not want to find himself in that position again. For the first time since he resurfaced from the depths of the cage, Sam thinks it may have been actual fear that ran through him while Dean had a vice grip on his throat. Then again, he can not remember what it is that fear feels like.

Samuel slowly opens his eyes and gazes upon another not to be believed sight. His two grandsons. His own flesh and blood. One stands above the other, both are bloodied and bruised. Dean lays on the floor, an obvious knife wound displays itself across his side. He moans and groans and clutches and claws at his wound. Sam stands in silence, one hand drips blood from its digits to the floor below, the other holds both a blade and an empty container. Shit. Samuel sees the unmistakable outline of bruises on Sam's neck. Bruises that look to be in the pattern of a hand print. Samuel shivers at the thought. Sam's neck, Dean's hand. Man, it has been one hell of a night for these boys. "Sam, are you okay son?" The older man notices the turn of Sam's head towards him and a silent affirmation as to his condition displayed through a nod. Sam approaches him, offers an arm, and with his aid, Samuel slowly rises to his feet. He wavers slightly and the instant formation of a nasty headache reminds him that had Dean clocked him but good. He doesn't remember much after that but, by the condition of the two Winchester boys, he knows he must have missed one hell of a show.

"Samuel, you should get that damn cure set up, we need to get it into him before he has another go at us." Sam watches the older man shuffle off and begin to combine all the ingredients. It looks like nasty shit. He moves his gaze from Samuel to Dean. He really wants this night to be over. Sam feels a flash of anger towards the man sprawled out on the floor. He drags Dean across the ground to the chair that he had occupied earlier. The younger brother bends down, picks up the ropes that lay discarded on the floor, but stops at the sound of Samuel's voice.

"No Sam. Do not restrain him. This is not going to be a pleasant experience for your brother and I am not sure how his body is going to react. Best to leave him loose."

Sam looks to Samuel as he makes his way back to the brothers. He has a cup of the cure in his hand and a look of determination on his face. "Samuel, he has already gotten loose twice and I do not want to risk having another confrontation with him. He had me by the throat Samuel. He was going to kill me. He was so strong. So set on getting to the blood. My blood. He... it's just. He isn't Dean. I don't trust him. Not right now." Sam sees his grandfather's gaze soften slightly. "Let's just get him secured on the chair Samuel, it will be safer. For all of us."

Dean can hear muffled voices but can not seem to make out what they say. He is sore. Everywhere. He feels pain. Everywhere. He still lays face down and works to turn his head to try and figure out what conversation is going on around him. He can make out the figures of his brother and grandfather and they look to be absorbed in some kind of intense discussion. He can tell because Sam's shoulders are tensed up and Dean feels an involuntary shudder flow through him as his eyes focus on Sam's bloody hand. He can't remember. What did Sam do? What did he do? Is Sam okay? Gotta make sure Sammy is okay. Dean moves his hands up to his sides and attempts to lift himself up from his position on the floor. He groans and collapses back down when the pain increases ten fold. He notices his movements have now caught the attention of the other two men and he closes his eyes to block out their stares.

"Look Samuel, he's already trying to get up. It won't be long until he is back up to his vampy potential and I am not going through that shit again. So please, let me do this."

"No Sam. Look at him. He can barely move so he is no threat to us. We will get him up on the chair. We will give him the cure. Then we will have to wait and see what the results are. No restraints Sam. Not this time. He needs our help. Your brother needs us."

"Fine" Sam spits the word out hard to make sure that Samuel knows exactly how he feels about this not smart decision on the old man's part. He moves in unison with his grandfather and together they heave Dean up from the ground and place him on the chair. Samuel moves in close to Dean's face and speaks to him gently and softly.

"Dean?" Samuel waits until he sees Dean's eyes on him before he continues. "I have the cure for you. We'll help get it into you and then you will have to ride it out. It is going to be unpleasant and I am not exactly sure how it is going to affect you. We will be right here, with you, for you if you need us." Samuel does not see any sort of recognition or acceptance in his older grandson's eyes so his gaze drifts to his other grandson. To say Sam looks pissed off would be a definite understatement. "Sam. Get behind your brother and hold his arms back. This is gonna get rough."

Dean's sense of smell is in overload. The repulsive odour ravages his nose and his throat. There is no way he is going to drink that stuff. He starts to struggle as much as his body will allow. He feels a sense of panic rise up inside of him at his body's refusal to listen to his commands. The panic increases exponentially when he feels his arms be grabbed and forced behind his back. He hisses at the pain that runs the length of his side and he scrunches his eyes shut to try and stop himself from expelling the bile he starts to feel rise up from his guts.

Samuel leans in and lifts the cure up to Dean's face. He frowns as Dean begins to move his head from side to side, as he does everything to prevent the liquid from entering his system. "Dean, this is what you have been waiting for. The reason you have made it this far. Please son, open your mouth." Dean doesn't answer, just continues to squirm and fight with all he has. "Okay Sam, plan B. Hold his head still."

Sam does not hesitate. He lets go of Dean's arms and grabs his head. He looks to Samuel and watches his grandfather pry his eldest son's mouth open. Sam can feel Dean sweat under his hands. He knows he has entered ultimate panic mode. He struggles to free himself, to avoid the inevitable, to avoid the liquid that will cure him. Sam feels his brother's weak attempts to remove his hands from his head and Sam can't help but feel a grim smile pass his lips as it seems their roles have been reversed. How does it feel Dean? Sam watches Samuel tip the cup and both men seem to hold their breath. It has finally arrived. The moment that all three men have waited for. To get Dean back. To cure him. To save him.

No. Dean feels the liquid enter his mouth. The sickening taste of it makes his stomach turn, his gag reflex activate. He spews the contents out and smiles tiredly as he sees it now decorate a lovely pattern across his grandfather's shirt.

"Okay, that is enough!" Samuel looks at Sam and shivers at the controlled rage he hears laced within his words. "Samuel, let me do it." The older man is reluctant but the look in his grandson's eyes makes him move. Sam will get it done. Sam will cure his brother.

Sam appears in Dean's vision and the older brother can't help but throw him a jibe. "Hi Sammy... I am not gonna drink that shit. You can't make me." It's Sam's turn to smirk and Dean watches him lean in, hears the beat of his brother's heart in his chest and drifts his focus to Sam's throat as his brother whispers into his ear. "Poor, misguided, and entirely wrong Dean. Sorry but yes, you are going to drink it and yes bro, I am the one who is going to make you."

Sam looks to his grandfather. "Hold him and follow my lead. Don't let go." Sam pries open Dean's mouth without any remorse for the obvious pain that he inflicts onto his brother as he does so. "Bottoms up." Sam pours the liquid into Dean's mouth, clasps his hand over his mouth so he can not spit the contents out, drops the empty cup onto the floor, and pinches Dean's nose closed.

"Okay Dean, let's see how long you can hold your breath."

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

Happy Christmas Eve everyone! I hope you enjoy this latest chapter. It would be great to hear what you think, those reviews are a great motivator! :) All the best to all of you out there in fanfiction land for 2011!

Dean tries. He does. He keeps his eyes on his brother's and holds his breath. And holds his breath. But he knows this is one challenge he can not win. He is at a very strong disadvantage and he is losing the battle. Quickly. As his eyes keep their lock on his brother, Sam's gaze does not falter, does not stray from his own and Dean senses his brother will not cave in his resolve. He will not let go of him until he cedes. As Dean starts to feel panic rise from the constant lack of oxygen, he closes his eyes. He wishes he was stronger. He curses himself as he feels his throat compulsively swallow, his body's need for air has come out the victor. Has overridden any other thought. Its desire, its need to feel the sweet flow of oxygen enter into it have left any other outcomes in the dust. As the nasty fluid slides down his throat, Dean feels the hands on him fall away. His mouth is free. His nose is free. His head is free. Dean's head lolls to the side and for a brief moment he enjoys the simple luxury of taking in a breath of air. And another. He gulps it in greedily, to appease the ache that has formed in his lungs.

Murmurs and movements flutter around him. Dean's confusion returns. His body feels weird. Out of sync. He tries to concentrate, to figure out what has led him here, how he ended up in this position. His thoughts are clouded over by the tremors as they start. As they wrack mercilessly throughout his body. He can not control them. His body rattles at the ferocity of them. He tries to fight. To keep his body steady. But the battle is lost and his body betrays him. He convulses in an unsteady rhythm and has no choice but to ride it out. He grips onto the chair for support and makes a silent plea for it to stop.

The shakes subside slowly but the relief that Dean starts to feel at that fact is quickly extinguished. His body seems to be in pure torture mode. The shudders have relented but Dean now feels them morph into something else. He feels like he has been plunged into Hell itself. The sensation that flows through him next is one of incredible and indescribable heat. His body now burns. It feels like it is on fire. From the inside. Like his blood has been ignited and now stands aflame within the confines of his body. It sends torrents of heat through every vein, every capillary, every joint, every bone, every inch and fibre of his being. A steady stream of unrelenting pain, of scalding heat, of sickness overflows within him. He falls to the floor, onto all fours, and hears muted voices speak to him. Or maybe they are just tricks, figments of his screwed up mind, as it tries to reach out to something familiar, something to soothe his delirium and agony. Dean opens his weary eyes and sees feet in his line of vision. He feels a sense of relief that at least he is not alone, but he frowns when a bucket is placed on the ground in front of him. One thing Dean knows, has learned, is that the sight of a very large, intimidating receptacle such as this is just not a good sign, and he especially doesn't like that it has been placed in front of him.

His brows furrow in a distinctive question mark pattern and Dean looks up to the owner of the feet. To Samuel. He is about to openly question the sudden appearance of the container, but as he opens his mouth to talk, he feels a rush of liquid, of nausea, climb up his throat and finds he has no choice. The reflexes within his body expel the contents at lightning speed and he instinctively hovers over the bucket. He retches out putrid black fluid in what feels to him like an endless cycle of heaves. It goes on and on and Dean finds himself thinking it will never end, that it will kill him. And he thinks maybe death would be a preferable option right now. Just to make this agony stop.

He gasps for breath and spits out the last of the vile tasting shit as the violent heaves finally lessen and come to a halt. He wishes to have just a moment to recover, to let the ache in his gut relax, but it is not meant to be. His mind goes into overdrive and he begins to relive the torment, the horror, each and every event that he has seen, that he has done, that he has been through since that screwed up moment in the alley. Since the moment he was turned. They flash in his mind. They flood his brain. And he can not control them, he can not hide from them. Not from the truth. It's like a movie, a terrible, hideous movie that has no off switch, that he can not change to another channel. Dean is consumed by the rerun that revolves around in his mind. He is entirely oblivious to everything and anything else. He can only feel the anguish, the guilt, the revulsion towards himself. And it threatens to overcome him. He starts to pant. He starts to gasp for air. The images. The horrible, terrifying, heart breaking images. They continue to invade his brain. And they shake him to his very core. He finds himself face to face with the monster. The monster who wears his skin. The one who wears his face.

God. He hurts. He was stabbed. By his own brother. He sees his own hands. They are around Sam's throat. The look on his own face. He enjoyed it. He loved the feel of control over his brother. The strength, the power he held over Sam. The surge of desire he felt as he stared at Sam's throat. At the blood pumping underneath. He sees his hand. As it lashes out and strikes his grandfather. Without remorse. The ache he felt within. The all consuming want. The need. The overwhelming desire. To drink blood. But not just any blood. Sam's. He longed for it. The vampire within him had seeped into each and every part of him. He was no longer in control of his body. Of his own mind. He was weak. And, he hated himself for it. The irresistible desire to drink. To quench his thirst. No matter what the cost to him. Or to Sam. Or to Samuel. He wanted it. Just one taste.

Dean curls up on the floor as wave after wave of memories wash over him and threaten to destroy him from the inside out. And it keeps on coming. There is no running. No forgetting. No walking away. Dead man's blood. Injected into him. The feel of it course through his veins. The pain he was subjected to by his own brother's hand. The warehouse. The killing. The desire to taste blood. It sickens him. God. Lisa. Ben. The alley. The vamp who turned him. And Sam.

God. Sam. The smirk on Sam's face. Dean sees it. His brother watches. His brother makes no attempt to help him. Dean feels sick. Sam. He had watched the scene unfold. He was there. He looked on, with a smile on his face, while he was attacked and turned into a vampire. Right in front of him. And he did nothing. Sam, the brother who Dean has spent his entire life protecting, looking after, keeping safe. Did nothing. Just stood there and watched the whole thing. Sam did not lift one finger to stop it. Hell, it looked to Dean like he actually enjoyed the show. Sam. Why?

The rewind runs its course through his mind and the visions stop. And Dean is cured. There are no cravings. He is no longer plagued by the consuming thirst for blood. He can no longer hear the constant drum of heartbeats. Or hear the blood as it pulses and runs its course throughout the veins. He no longer wants the things that a vampire does. He sighs. He is no longer a monster. He is cured.

Dean finds he can not move. He is utterly exhausted and spent. Physically. Emotionally. He is used up. He remains where he is on the floor. He can not control it as a moan escapes his lips. Shit, his entire body hurts. His side aches and burns and he rationalizes that these are the usual affects from a stab wound.

But, most of all, he feels an immense and uncontrollable pain in his heart. It hurts, it is wounded like never before. Far beyond any kind of physical injury. This hurt cuts deeper than any knife, any blade ever could. The emotional anguish, the excruciating pain of what Dean has just witnessed is almost too much. It hurts like a son of a bitch. Dean's heart aches. Because of his brother.

Because of Sam's betrayal.


End file.
